The next best thing
by DarknessBloodAngel
Summary: He needed a guardian angel, wished desperately for one... but sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there guys! Some of you might recognise this story from when I had it up as a Shake it up! story, but I wasn't feeling it for that archive, so I posted it under Jack and Jerry with some minor alterations though. ;)**

**Now, this story is about bullying/abuse/eating disorders/self-harming, etc, etc, so if this isn't your thing, turn away now, or if you're hesitant about it, give it a chance. You never know, you might like it. Came out a bit wrong, but I meant the story concept, not the bad things. :)**

**This story **_**is**_** a Jarry story, but Jack doesn't come in right away, and it's AU so they don't know each other. It's gonna be a crazy ride, but I hope you'll join me. Remember to review and I'll need over eight for an update since this story's only gonna have a few chapters and I need support regardless. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kickin' it and if I did, Jack and Jerry would be dating. Nuff said. :)**

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Jerry stared ahead of him, his brown eyes locking onto the pale, tired-looking boy in the mirror wearing the Bobby Wasabi Karate gi. He was immediately horrified by the sight; horrified by the deathly pallor his skin held and horrified by the dark circles resting under his eyes, but he knew it was _him_.

He - usually the life of the Dojo and always putting smiles on people's faces - was the bruised, battered and broken boy looking out from the mirror, desperately trying to break free, but Jerry wouldn't allow him to see anything that could threaten to spill his darkest secrets into the reality of the world.

Jerry's eyes widened in horror as purple swelling bruises began to materialize on the face of the boy in front of him. He resisted the urge to have a hand fly up to his cheek, as he knew it was his subconsciousness playing horrifying tricks on him, preying on his many weaknesses.

What was everyone's problem with him? Why couldn't they just leave him be? Why did they have to pounce on him at every chance and squash him into the ground? Why did they always have to make him feel worthless and unappreciated? And worst of all, why did he believe them?

Quickly darting his head around to see if Kim, Eddie, Milton or Rudy had came into the locker room, Jerry absent-mindedly pulled up the sleeve of his gi, and revealed a macabre work of art, the artist - his peer group.

Bruises were dotted up and down his arm - the one that was covered held identical bruises - leaving virtually no natural colored skin to the imagination. Jerry bit his lower lip nervously and ran his index finger diligently over the bruises.

He looked at his reflection, and saw dark red blood dribbling forth from his nose. Finally breaking the mask of calm serenity he'd worn so much recently, Jerry's hand instantly flew to his upper lip. He felt relieved, like a huge weight was lifted from his body, that there was not a single trace of blood.

Jerry took a deep breath, and composed himself once more, masking the fear his eyes held. What had he done to deserve this? He had been a good person. Maybe he was just dealt the unlucky hand in life and was swarmed with horrors that people around him could scarcely imagine.

Or maybe he _deserved_ it.

"Jerry, come on, the tournament's starting in twenty minutes!" Rudy's voice broke into his silent reviere, and everything came flooding back to him at once. Sounds of everyone's equipment bags rustling - Milton was complaining his jockstrap was too tight and Kim was refusing point-blank to help him with it - and the steady humming of Rudy's car that was parked outside.

He yanked his sleeve down, the speed rivalling that of lightning as he locked away the torment that he was suffering from any eyes that could seek out his vulnerability and exploit his weaknesses; manipulate his deepest fears and shatter his psyche.

"Be there in a sec, yo!" Jerry called through the locker room door. He could hear Kim giggling and he could no doubt picture Rudy murmuring about being late and throwing a temper tantrum, but lately all laughter felt like it was being aimed at him.

He quickly adjusted his cuffs, making sure they fit tightly enough around his bony wrists to hide his bruises. They were literally the fine line that his fate rested on right in that moment. They would decide whether he could go another day masking his pain, or whether he would inadvertently expose it and spill his secrets.

He plastered a cheery smile on his face, tightened his green belt, and walked out of the locker room. Everyone smiled at him whilst Rudy was ushering them all out the door. As Jerry piled into the car with everyone else, he was glad no-one would be observant enough to notice it didn't quite meet his eyes.

But then again, no-one was observant enough to notice that he had became more deflated and stopped dancing or being as living. He had stopped eating as much and had became pale, ragged and _thin_, even thinner than Milton. It was a miracle half of his clothes still fit him and didn't hang off his body.

They pulled up outside the Black Dragon Dojo and walked inside. It hadn't changed much since the last time Jerry had been there, although some of the students - the one's who frequently picked on him were currently making crude hand gestures towards him - had gotten stronger.

Jerry seated himself on the bench with the others, while Rudy and Ty were struggling not to argue with each other for their civil handshake. They gave up halfway through, walking back to their fighters with peeved looking expressions. It made Jerry smile a little; they really couldn't set everything aside and start afresh, could they?

"Welcome to the international Karate Promotional Tournament!" the announcer boomed into the microphone, making everyone cheer and hoot loudly. "First up from the Bobby Wasabi Dojo, going for his blue belt, is Jerry Martinez..." The man's voice became drowned out as loud cheers and wolf-whistles echoed in his head.

Kim smiled at him warmly, rubbing his shoulder as the cheers continued to flourish even though the man had stopped speaking. Jerry knew this was really the only time he could do something other than look like a blind gazelle during training, so he was determined to fight his hardest in his match. This was finally a time to give them a little taste of their own medicine and leave _them_ with bruises.

Jerry got up off the bench and walked towards the ring, bowing to his opponent. As he saw who it was - a purple belt, one of Frank's nameless lackey's he had seen - he put all the abuse he'd been suffering at the back of his mind.

"Fight!" the referee lifted his hand and Jerry was instantaneously knocked backwards with a front-kick to the stomach. He took a deep breath, allowing himself to roll backwards, back onto his feet. Everyone on his side cheered and sighed in relief.

Jerry put his fists up, bouncing lightly around his opponent while he stared him down. He calmed himself down and tried to think of the many ways Kim had been teaching him on how to flip someone. He knew he could do it, he just needed the opportunity to show itself.

It came when his opponent raised his leg to kick him. Jerry cleverly side-stepped, and just like he had predicted, a punch came flying forwards. Jerry grabbed it and, trying to remember what Kim had said, swiftly slipped underneath his arm so he was behind him, yanking it down and thus, flipping him.

He landed on his back with a pained grunt, unable to get back up. Jerry felt a huge smile burst onto his face, a genuine one. It had actually worked! He didn't think it would have, but he had seen Kim do it enough times. He had just needed to believe in himself and do it.

The cheers from his side were _deafening_ as the referee declared him winner and it made him feel appreciated for a single second, instead of embarrassed and degraded. He and his opponent bowed to each other respectfully, before walking back to their benches. The minute he was within distance, he was swarmed by celebratory hugs and pats on the back.

"Jerry you did it!" Milton clapped, thumping him hard - as hard as _Milton_ could - on the back.

"That was incredible!" Kim squealed happily, throwing her arms around him once more. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from making a sound as Kim's arms were touching some particularly nasty bruises.

"Why can't you be more like that everyday?!" Rudy said happily, an enthusiastic grin on his face. That made Jerry freeze up suddenly; he knew Rudy had meant well by that and would never try to hurt him intentionally, but it still hurt. He _knew_ he wasn't good enough in classes, but it was only because his bruises and just the general weight of everything was weighing him down.

When the rest of the tournament was over - Milton didn't get his yellow belt this time, although it was a bonus he didn't win it and _then_ lose it, Eddie got his orange belt and Kim had only fought for the hell of it; she needed a different type of test if she wanted her second degree black belt - Rudy and Ty went up to each other, starting out with a civil handshake, but then it turned into a game of 'Who can break whose hand first?' and childish bickering which Kim and Julie had to pull them both away from.

"Jerry, do you wanna go to Phil's with us?" Kim asked with a smile. Jerry couldn't help but feel like every smile he was getting was fake, either way he knew it wouldn't last long and that he would be back to the bumbling gazelle tomorrow at the Dojo.

"No thanks." He shook his head. He didn't feel hungry at all, which was strange because he hadn't eaten anything at all today, or yesterday... "I'm beat, yo. I'm just gonna head on home and hit the hay." He smiled half-heartedly, hoping he came across as tired and not shady or suspicious.

"But you've got your _blue_ belt dude!" Eddie exclaimed suddenly, making everyone else chuckle. "Time to par-_tay_," he said, miming a little dance. Jerry just knew he was hungry and wanted to hurry up and get to Phil's.

"Just wrap up your leftovers for me," he said feigning a smile, yawning to emphasise his tiredness.

"Alright." Rudy smiled at him, he didn't suspect a thing. Jerry found himself getting frustrated, yet he was relieved at the same time. It was like he wanted people to notice, yet leave him alone. Was it so bad to want two things that would paradoxically never happen? Especially with friends as loyal as the Wasabi Warriors.

"See you tomorrow." They waved at him before they parted ways, laughing and smiling between them. Jerry didn't want to ruin their celebration by looking like a grump when he would get tired of faking too many smiles.

"Bye," he murmured quietly, unintelligibly. He just wanted to get home and soak his aching muscles in a hot bath and try to sneak the Witch Hazel - his mother swore by it that it was brilliant for bruises and grazes - from the medicine cabinet without having thoughts of killing himself.

Jerry was about to round onto the next street, but stopped abruptly as he heard resounding chatter, and the clinking of beer bottles. Three dark figures stood at the end of the street, and cast large shadows under the dim illuminations of the amber streetlights. He saw the figures nudge each other, before turning in his direction.

He took a deep breath and, deciding hiding would get him nowhere, walked towards the figures, planning to bypass them with his head held high. He felt better for a split second, as he didn't feel afraid anymore. But as each step brought him closer to them, dread began to creep over him again.

It hit him full force in the gut once their faces came into view. Jerry didn't know their names, but he had recognised them around school. The three of them were _always_ in the detention room, and whenever he was there, they would always bombard him with spit balls or crumpled bits of paper - not that Jerry didn't throw anything back - or tease him about anything they could pick up from him.

They were all dressed in roughly the same, black shirt, black leather jacket, ripped blue jeans and fearsome looking _Doc Martens_. The only difference between them was that one of them, the one in the middle, was wearing a red beanie.

They spotted him, and threw their beer bottles on the ground. They clunked against the concrete, and Jerry almost winced. He didn't know why, but he was _afraid_. They all formed a fence around her, blocking her way and jeering at her.

One spoke up, his eyes glimmering with excitement, "Hey, hey lookie here, it's the Karate Freak." They had smiles on their faces, but they weren't kind or happy smiles. They were the sickest, most sadistic smiles Jerry had ever seen in his life.

"Can you hear us?" the boy with the red beanie asked him in a falsely sweet tone, as if he was a lost child in the supermarket, making the dread consume even more of Jerry's body. "Are you deaf?!" he yelled suddenly and Jerry had to fight his reaction to jump.

He wasn't going to deny he wasn't scared, he had absolutely no idea of what they wanted with him - for all he knew, it could be something that could land them in jail for the rest of their lives and his body would be found in a gutter the next morning - and his knowledge of self-defence wasn't good enough to protect himself. They were bigger than him, older than him, and certainly stronger than him.

Jerry swallowed hard, forgetting every epithet he had thought about saying as a comeback and brought himself back to the present. He didn't need to anger them further, although he still had no idea of what he'd actually done to them in the first place. _Looked_ at them when walking to class probably.

"N-no," his voice came out as a stutter, like he was a broken record and he nearly slapped himself on the face.

As they laughed heartily, _mockingly_ at him, he brushed his fear off and held firm, locking his gaze onto each of the three boys in turn. "Look, I really gotta get home, so..." Jerry's voice trailed off and he made to push past the three boys, but they formed a barrier, and one arm outstretched and pushed him back.

"Don't leave yet, Jerry, the party's just started," the boy who stopped him, probably the leader and the one who orchestrated this, spoke up. Jerry's insides knotted and he felt bile boiling away in his throat, he knew that whatever their idea of a party was, it wasn't going to be good.

"And you're the guest of honour," one said. They broke out into guffaws, but it didn't make them any less terrifying. Jerry thought of making a run for it, but even if he could escape them, there was always the small issue of them _catching _him.

"Just leave me alone!" his voice raised a few octaves as he yelled at them, taking them all by surprise. Jerry felt relieved that he had said _something_ and hadn't came across as a quiet mouse who must be trodden on.

But his optimism, was short lived.

A fist smashed into his stomach, hard and fast - much too fast for him to think about blocking - knocking all the wind out of him. A shocked groan slipped past his lips and Jerry fell to his knees, mashing the fabric of his gi and the skin it was supposedly protecting into the jagged pavement. Pain throbbed right through his body and Jerry was sure he felt his ribs break, or at the very least, bruise.

Two hands shoved him harshly and he sliced through the air like a bullet, colliding with the pavement once more. They all closed in on him, blocking out his surroundings so that all he could see was a wall of black and shadows around him. He raised his arms in front of his stomach, but it felt useless. He knew they wouldn't be much protection because of the bruises that were already on them.

Without bending down, one of the boys punched him in the side, making him cry out in pain, while the others jeered unintelligible - to his ears - things at him. Jerry tried not to show any sign of weakness, but he knew that once he had been hit, any and all the chances he'd had were gone because he hadn't reacted fast enough.

He whimpered as kicks finally began landing on his body; his arms, legs, sides, stomach, but he was glad they were choosing to avoid his head. It would be extremely hard to think of a convincing lie if he had a large bruise on his face. They were clearly thinking the same thing.

Abuse continued to rain down on him and his screams, yells, whimpers, _any_ sounds of pain being inflicted on him that he made, were either laughed at by the boys, or ignored by anyone who could help him. A pang suddenly ran through him when Jerry realised he hadn't seen anyone out and about. It _was_ extremely late, so only a handful of people would be out at this time.

Another hard kick to his stomach was enough to make him come undone, to scream and beg for his mercy. "Stop it! P-please, it hurts!" The words ripped from his mouth without his consent and the warm breeze around him suddenly changed, getting colder as the boys' abuse seemed to be lifting. Jerry didn't know why, but he felt like he was doomed.

The violent stream of attacks seemed to stop, but the pain was still there, rapidly threatening to make him pass out. A shiver streaked down his backbone, making him shudder and spasm violently as the boys all laughed at him. What little dignity he had, had left, had now been taken away from him.

"Aww, poor boy," one boy's mocking voice broke through the eerie silence that had previously been dominated with the sound of boots hitting skin and cries of pain which went unheard and unnoticed. "You think we should boys?" he asked the other two.

"No!" they shouted, and they set about beating him again.

His screams were becoming a familiar melody to him, as were the sensations of the punches and kicks, only this time they were the hardest they had ever been. Jerry, through all his pain, couldn't believe people so _vile_ could be in existence, and that _he _was one of the victims. With his spectators and initiator observing silently, smirking as he squirmed and writhed from the pain they inflicted on him.

More kicks from their boots, undoubtedly steel-capped for the occasion, smashed into his body and aggravated the already tender bruises on his arms. The pain continued in waves, consecutively, spreading through him like a wildfire and Jerry cried out again as he felt extremely strong _thud_ to his chest, feeling his heart _literally _jolt inside his body.

The pain stopped and the pressure on his chest lifted seconds after another boot collided with his stomach and Jerry took in a gasp of much needed air. As his cries of pain dissipated from the air, three sadistic chuckles floated into his ears. He blinked and the tears that he didn't even realise had been brewing behind his eyes, slipped down his cheeks.

"Now _that_ was a fun party," the leader of the group cackled down at him, delivering one last kick to his thighs. "Bye freak." He spat over him. He and the other two boys walked away from him, leaving him to the mercy of the elements.

The boys' chatter and raucous laughter died away as they walked further and further away from Jerry's body. He couldn't move, he was in too much pain. In that instant, he found himself wishing he was dead, so he could spare the humiliation of being found by a stranger and treated like an extremely vicious stray dog.

Jerry shifted his weight, feeling his leg twinge. As a reflex, his body shot forwards towards the source and he whimpered in pain, feeling his back click. He was going to be _covered_ in bruises tomorrow and the worst part, was that everyone would know, but they would take no notice of her.

Jerry truly didn't know what he had done to those boys, but he _hated_ the way they'd treated him, like a piece of meat, a revolting insect that needed to be killed immediately, or a toy that they would play with over and over again until they got bored.

Feeling everything crash down on him all at once - the earlier teasing and insults he'd received at school, and the group assault than a few minutes ago - Jerry felt his bottom lip quiver uncontrollably and tears scorched the corner of his eyes. He blinked and no sooner than the first one fell, did he start to sob uncontrollably. The pain began to register itself with him once more and he felt embargoed, _trapped_, the slightest little movement hurt him, but Jerry withstood it long enough to collapse his head into his arms.

He was so _weak_, broken, tearing apart at the already fragmented seams which composed his very being. Jerry found himself wondering how long it would be before he snapped and went into complete depression. But then that made him think of his Mum, Rudy, Milton, Kim and Eddie.

They were none the wiser and that made Jerry sob even harder, the pitiful noises echoing out into the silent night. He knew his mother would be mad at him for not telling her sooner, but then she would be forever checking up on him and she would even go to the school.

Even _Jerry_, master of bad plans and stupidity, knew _that_ was a bad one. It would only make the bullies more antagonistic towards him and he knew how it would go down anyway. Mr. Buckett would 'keep an eye' out - which was never productive - and as soon as the bullies got him alone and away from it, they would start playing with their little toy again.

Salty tears ran into his parted lips, and he found he didn't have the strength to move his arms to scrub the tears away. Jerry laid there in a ball, throbbing with agony and prayed, _wished_ with every single fibre of his broken, battered being, that someone would take notice, and save him from him despicable torment that he didn't deserve.

He needed a Guardian Angel.

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**So, did you guys like it? I've gotta warn you though, it only gets darker from here. And remember I did say Jack will come in later, but I'm not saying when because I wanna surprise you all. ;-)**

**Reviews with your thoughts would be nice please. I need reviews like vampires *cough*and me*cough* need blood. :-P**

**Peace out guys!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! Sorry I took so long, my inspiration left me for a while and I was in a really bad slump I honestly didn't want to do anything, but I'm alright now and hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things soon. :)**

**Alright, this message is something I've put on everything I've updated, just to hopefully get my point across a little more. I appreciate every review I get, but it's really frustrating and disappointing to see a large amount of readers (well over 200 for some of my newer stories) and a small amount of reviewers. I actually want to hear what people think about my work, since I'm putting it on this site and available for people to read. Even a little constructive criticism from time to time is welcome because I actually think I do need it. **

**But thank you to those of you that did review. :)**

**Okay, so last chapter I left you guys with a bit of a sad ending. Here's the build-up and I can sadly say things don't perk up for Jerry yet, but they will soon. (Or I just have a very twisted meaning to the phrase 'perking up'.)**

**I'll need over ten reviews for an update and I think everyone knows why by now. :)**

**Enjoy the chapter.**

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_Am I dead...? _Jerry thought, squeezing his eyes shut as pain continued to radiate throughout his body. He couldn't be, he was in too much pain and he was still having visions of those boy's having too much fun inflicting it all on him.

His head was throbbing from where he had been pushed down and one of the boys' Doc Martens had came extremely close to bashing his brain out of his skull, his legs were numb - one more significantly than the other - and his chest felt hollow, reluctantly taking in every raspy breath.

Bruised and battered, he laid there - not caring that he was half in a puddle - wishing for a car to come along and run over him. He would never be truly happy again, he couldn't. Not while he had to carry around the scars of things that he would rather forget. Like this night, but he knew it wouldn't be long before a fresh set came along.

He felt tears roll out of the corners of his eyes and he immediately grew angrily with himself; he was now a blue belt in Karate and he hadn't even attempted to fight back because his reflexes would never be fast enough because he would never be _good_ enough. He was lucky - although he did not feel like it - that they hadn't killed him, but he knew they just wanted him alive to watch him squirm and writhe under days of torment that he would have to fight through.

Jerry weakly turned his head at the sound of footsteps, not strong enough to bring his arms up, flinching, thinking it was the boys coming back to finish him off, but he was somewhat relieved to hear the high heels instead of the heavy Doc Martens. Although his mind was in a dark enough place, trying not to think about what shoe would hurt more if it was brought down on his head.

The high heels came closer, running quicker, accompanied by a, "Hey, you okay darlin'?" said in a raised, Southern drawl.

Jerry squinted as the heels came closer, moving his eyes up them, looking into the concerned face of a woman in her thirties. He tried to move, but his brain began to pound, throwing him back on the ground in a disoriented haze.

"What happened, darlin'?" the woman asked worriedly, kneeling down beside him, gently putting a hand on his forehead - he fought to wince and tried not to close his eyes - and putting her hands on his shoulders.

She began to help him up and Jerry stood on his feet in a daze. He was on edge, waiting for the women to push him down and spit in his face for being so stupid for believing that she would help an inferior person like him, but she never did.

"I fell." His voice was bland and emotionless. He felt broken, literally and not so literally; luckily the physical pain was slowly ebbing away, but the mental pain he would be left with for months. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to sleep - sleep and never wake up again - or he wanted a nightmare so scarring that it would haunt him for weeks on end just so he wouldn't fade away in his sleep. His brain felt much more scrambled than usual.

"Are you sure you're alright?" the women asked, lightly dusting the gravel off his torso.

Jerry couldn't explain it, but he just wanted the women to go away and leave him alone. The help was coming too little too late. Everyone said, 'Better late than never' but Jerry had became so accustomed to the 'never' that the help felt like an annoyance that he wanted to squash and grind into the ground. "Yeah I'm fine, just clumsy," he lied.

The woman rubbed his shoulder thoughtfully. "S' long as you're sure, sweetheart." She walked away and Jerry glared angrily after her, clenching his fists.

It was bad enough that he had been punched and kicked and shoved to the ground and left for dead in a puddle, but why did someone have to fake sympathy for him? Was it just to get his guard down so they could try again? Well it wasn't going to work.

Scowling in annoyance, Jerry began the difficult task of hobbling home in the dark, wincing every so often and breathing raggedly. He just prayed the boys' weren't lurking anywhere down the road, waiting to push him into the road and laugh as he would be crushed by an on-coming car, mangling his body for all to see and cackle at...

Jerry's home was soon in sight, thankfully as his leg was beginning to swell up, and he was relieved to find his Mum was still awake - what _was_ the time anyway? - and watching TV in the living room. At least he could curl up in his bed instead of on the porch.

His fingers trembled as they opened the front door, stumbling inside, trying not to topple over. He closed it behind him, staring wistfully at the stairs, then glancing at his leg.

"Jerry?" his Mum's voice called, followed by the sound of the TV being muted and her footsteps. "Is that you?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered softly as she came into the hallway to greet him with a smile.

Her smile dropped instantly and her eyes widened as a look of horror spread across her face. "What happened?!" she demanded frantically, running up to him.

Jerry froze. Did he look that bad? The bruises shouldn't have been noticable since his sleeves hadn't ridden up during the stumble home and the boys' hadn't kicked him anywhere that couldn't be covered with clothes precisely for that reason and to keep themselves out of trouble. "I slipped," he lied once more.

His Mum's face turned sympathetic and she wrapped him in a hug that, although gentle, had Jerry gritting his teeth. "My pobrecito," she murmured quietly, rubbing his back. "Go on up to bed and I'll bring you something to eat," she said soothingly.

"Thanks," he murmured half-heartedly.

He limped up the stairs, clinging onto the banister, fighting the twinging in his leg and rushed as fast as he could into the safe haven of his room. He flicked the light on and made his way over to his bed, not caring he was still wearing his Gi.

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and his eyes widened in shock like his Mum's. His hair was dishevelled with bits of gravel in it, his jacket - which he shedded quickly - had a large tear in the side and his face was smeared with muck and grime. He was sure he was bleeding somewhere too, although he ached too much to check.

Aimlessly, he flopped onto his bed, kicking his shoes off. He climbed inside, snuggling into the warm covers. Jerry grabbed the remote and turned the TV on - surprised to find the clock only said seven PM; it felt like he had laid on the ground for much longer - smiling when he saw his favourite show, _Smashin' it_, was on and his favourite episode, _Smashin' it in Korea_, was playing.

His door opened and his Mum's head popped around it and she walked into the room with a tray of steaming empanadas' and rice.

"Here you go, honey," she said, smiling as Jerry sat up so she could set it on his lap. "It's your favourite," she said gently. "I'll come check on you in the morning, okay?" She kissed him on the forehead.

Jerry picked up the fork and poked at the rice, the food looking foreign to him and unappetising. "Night, Mum." He feigned a smile, being scarily used to it by now, and watched her as she closed the door behind her, turning the light off.

He put the tray on his bedside and laid down, drifting off into an uneasy sleep - images of large boots looming above his head taunting him - with the TV playing softly.

* * *

Jerry slowly opened his eyes and was instantly met by the sunlight shining in through the window as he had forgotten to pull the curtains shut. He could feel the warmth rubbing against his skin; he was deeply relaxed and comfortable, something he hadn't felt in months. It was strange, seeing as he was bruised and battered and was heading into another day of abuse from his peers that would go unnoticed by his friends.

Taking a deep breath, he edged himself slowly out of bed, gingerly putting his feet on the ground. He heaved himself up from the bed, grimacing at the pain that throbbed through his right leg; it wasn't enough to make him limp or hinder him, but he was sure that the skin underneath his Gi was marked with bruises to add to his macabre collection. They would leave him with a heavy reminder of one of the worst moment's of his life after the best.

That just made it clear to him that he could never be happy for more than a few minutes before someone smashed him to pieces, making those treasured minutes worthless.

His door opened and he turned sharply, relieved when it was his Mum.

"Morning, Jerry," she said brightly, walking into the room. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine." That was a lie. "I'll live." _That_ just made him sound like a pessimist. Of course he would live, but he didn't know how long it would be before he would crumble - reduced to a mere wisp of a person that had been Jerry Martinez - under the pressure and stop fighting all together.

"Can I get changed?" he asked his Mum. He had to see what he looked like underneath the momentary mask, and he didn't want to expose his Mum to it. Expose her to the horrors that she should never have to see on her baby boy, the battle wounds of high school that he should have never had to endure.

"Sure," she smiled at him, blowing him a quick kiss before exiting the room.

_It's better this way_, Jerry reasoned with himself. It would be easier on his Mum too if she didn't know; she could just concentrate on herself without having to be biting her nails at work, unfocused because she was haunted by thoughts of him being shoved into lockers, hit and slapped, having his happiness reduced to nothing by a bunch of people who couldn't stand to see him smile.

Looping his fingers through the elastic waistband of the trousers of his Gi, he breathed deeply before pulling them off in full view of the mirror. His legs were almost perfect doubles for his arms; colors fighting for dominance over his skin, seeping over every untouched spot, infecting it with his inner demons that rarely wanted to stay hidden, preferring to mock him and humiliate him.

That wasn't going to happen, not today. Jerry made sure of that as he pulled a fresh pair of jeans on. He didn't even both with looking at his arms, already knowing what he would see, and stripped off his top - stained with dirty puddle water from last night - and replaced it with a fresh one that was beginning to get baggy around his stomach. Thinking fast, surprising since it was _him_, he disguised it with a large, chunky hoodie.

His phone beeped and he picked it up, checking the one unread message.

_To: Jerry_

_From: Milton_

_Message: Hey Jerry, Dad and I are driving past on his way to work, do you want a lift?_

Jerry smiled to himself. _Good old Milton_, he thought, testing the weight on the leg that was most painful. There was no way he would be able to walk and not be late. He texted Milton back so fast he felt his fingers cramping..

_To: Milton_

_From: Jerry_

_Message: That'd be great, thnx. _

Milton's reply came back smile and Jerry smiled, glad to have someone he could count on. Although that only made him think that he would never be able to tell him anything... or Kim or Eddie. Not even Rudy; he barely noticed when his cat kept escaping from his office, so what made Jerry think that he could ever help him? How they all could? Even with the Wasabi Code on their sides.

_To: Jerry_

_From: Milton_

_Message: No problem. :) See you in 5 :) _

He put his phone back in his pocket and headed down the stairs, slinging his school bag at the doorstep. He walked into the kitchen, being greeted by his Mum who was making pancakes.

"Hi honey." She flipped the pancake over and put the pan back on the stove. "Want some breakfast?" she offered.

"No, I'm alright." Jerry knew he wasn't; he hadn't eaten anything in days, but the empty, hollow feeling in his stomach wasn't bothering him like he usually would have, so he did nothing about it.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he pulled it out to see a text from Milton.

_From: Milton_

_Message: We're outside. :)_

"Mum, Milton's here," he said, putting his phone in his pocket. "I've gotta go," he smiled, walking over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Have a good day at school, honey," she said softly.

Jerry never would though, not until everyone who picked on him was gone, but they seemed to amplify every day and he knew they would have. It only made him feel worse as he picked up his bag and headed out the door, spotting a smiling Milton waving at him from outside his Dad's car.

"What happened to you?!" he asked in surprise once he saw him.

"Fell over," he lied again, starting to believe it himself even though he had lived through the beating and felt every single hit.

"You're such a klutz," Milton chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeah, klutz..." Jerry trailed off nervously as he climbed into the back seat with Milton while Mr. Krupnick started the car.

The drive passed by quickly, with eighties' retro music - which was so horrible that Jerry couldn't understand why Milton and his Dad liked it - playing softly in the background while Milton and his Dad talked about new projects that his company, _Techtonic Labs_ were working on, with Jerry adding an occasional, "Hmm," every time they asked what he thought. His mind wasn't on any of that, it was on the stomach twisting nerves he was feeling as the car neared, and eventually parked in front of, the school gates.

The insults started - as usual unheard by every teacher per ignorance and egged on by many laughing students - as soon as he walked down the hallway.

"Hey, look, it's Jerry!" one boy called loudly, rousing his friends. Jerry didn't even spare them a glance and kept making his way to his locker.

"How was the 'party' last night, loser?"

Jerry involuntarily shuddered at that, the images of the boots, this time equipped with deadly spikes, flashed briefly back into his mind. He was keen to forget it, while others were keen to remind him.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" he yelled back angrily, still not sparing them the glares they weren't worth.

"Nope, that's why we're here," someone yelled after him. "You're far too easy," he sniggered.

"Hey now, you're making him out to be a gimp," one boy cut over them, sounding sympathetic, making Jerry wary. "Which is an accurate description!" he cackled madly.

"Well, no-one's gonna buy him, 'specially with _that_ face!" someone else added harshly.

"I feel sorry for his mother, she has to look at him all day!"

Everyone involved burst into laughter that rang in Jerry's ears. A large lump swelled in his throat and warmth gathered at the corners of his eyes while each cut the insults inflicted began to bleed heavily. He forced the tears back - crying at school would be social suicide, especially for him - and continued to his locker, finding Kim waiting there with a smile on her face.

It _still _amazed him that she never heard anything. He didn't think she was being ignorant though, it was just that she didn't know what to listen for, or what was going on for that matter.

"Hey, Jerry," she said warmly. "Got that homework for Mr. Brower?" she asked.

Jerry's eyes widened as he remembered the assessment being set three weeks ago and the stern lecture about detention if it wasn't done being drilled into his head. "Was that due today?!" he asked frantically and Kim nodded. "Man..." he grimaced. Everything had been getting in the way and he was not about to spill his private life to one of the strictest teacher's in the school.

"Guessin' _that's_ a no," Kim deduced with a knowing look. "Are you coming to practice today?" she asked with a smile.

"If I don't get detention," Jerry said, scrambling for a convincing sounding excuse. The truth was that Karate was beginning to lose it's appeal for him and there was always the risk that he didn't have any clothing that wouldn't cover his bruises.

"Maybe if you stopped pranking the head teacher..." Kim chuckled, clearly she hadn't forgotten the time that he had made the staff lounge's toilet explode and squirt purple dye. Unluckily for Mr. Buckett, he had been _sat_ on it.

The bell rang and Jerry's stomach instantly sank. He couldn't stall any longer, he would have to face _them_ in his next lesson. There was no avoiding them; they were everywhere

"I've gotta run for chemistry," Kim said hurriedly. "I'll meet you, Milton and Eddie back here at lunch," she smiled at him.

"Later," he said half-heartedly, watching her walk away. He was all alone and vulnerable; seemingly like always.

He swallowed nervously as he received a wicked glare from one of his tormentor's, entering the same classroom that he had.

_Here we go again..._ he thought uneasily, pushing the door back open as it was intentionally slammed in his face.

* * *

Jerry clenched his fist, feeling his face flame in annoyance as another crumpled piece of paper hit him in the back of the head yet again. The insults, he had managed to brush off with difficulty, but the paper - the paper was becoming increasingly aggravating. Jerry knew exactly who it was without the need to turn around.

Micah Sherman. The most popular boy in school - the boy who every girl fawned over, the boy who every boy wanted to _be_; he was rich, handsome, athletic and had a flawless face that always had a smirk plastered on his face, especially if Jerry looked miserable - who was also the captain of the Seaford Killer whales football team. He had had it out for Jerry since he got into a fight with one of his teammates over something neither could remember.

Feeling another piece hit him, Jerry shot under the table, picking it up and throwing it back towards Micah without any hesitation. It flew through the air but missed Micah by an inch or two, sailing _right past _Mr. Carter's ear.

He stopped marking the work of the student whose desk he was bending over, and picked the paper up from the ground. "Who threw this piece of paper?" he demanded.

Micah grinned slyly at him and Jerry felt his nostrils flare as the footballer said, "Jerry did, Sir," in a sickeningly sweet tone he used with all the teachers.

"Jerry?" Mr. Carter turned to him with a not-so-surprised expression on his face. "Did you?" he asked, or rather, yelled.

"Yes," Jerry said quickly, hoping he would have enough time to say why. "But-"

"No 'but's'," Mr. Carter cut him off sternly before he could tell on Micah. "See me after school," he ordered briskly, re-tending to marking the student's book.

Jerry raised an eyebrow. He didn't even have to look at Micah to see the jock was wearing a smug smirk on his face. Jerry knew Mr. Carter only turned a blind eye to Micah and put all the blame on him was because of Micah's standing in the sport's regiment in the school; even a single mark against his name that wasn't a praise could make him look bad in the teacher's eyes, and because everyone seemed to think sunshine shone out of Micah's ass _just_ because he played football, that he shouldn't be punished for anything.

"What a joke," Jerry muttered, not bothering to lower his volume or hide the disdain in his voice.

Several of his classmate's '_ooooh'_ed' and the footballer's, especially Micah, chuckled and grinned at him.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Carter said, sounding affronted as he turned around abruptly, red biro still poised over the student's book that he had perched on his arm.

Jerry took a deep breath; he couldn't turn back now. "I said, 'What a joke'," he repeated, standing up from his seat. "You're only protecting him because he's the leader of the school's football team," he accused, or rather, told the truth. Nearly everyone knew that - Micah _revelled_ in it, the smug bastard - but never outright said anything, only whispered about it among friends.

"Nonsense," Mr. Carter shook his head as if the very idea was preposterous to him and he was innocent of committing such a thing, when he wasn't. "Teacher's are not allowed to play favourites," he said, regarding him like he was a little boy, making the rest of the class titter with laughter that he didn't bother stopping.

_No, but they do, _Jerry thought sourly. He thought of saying that, but he didn't. He decided on something slightly more eye-opening, not caring if Mr. Carter listened or not, he just needed to say it. "No, they're just allowed to ignore things that happen right under their noses," he snapped back.

"That's enough, Jerry!" Mr. Carter yelled, making Jerry's temper flare violently. "I will be phoning your mother about your behaviour." His tone said, 'End of discussion' and Jerry, accepting he was beaten, reluctantly sat back down. He had never hated Mr. Carter more in his life than right now. He was a complete hypocrite and an unfit teacher.

"Faggot," someone chuckled harshly behind him, kicking his chair, _hard_.

Jerry scowled in annoyance and returned to his paper, gritting his teeth as Micah and his cronies continued to pelt him with paper, it going unnoticed by the teacher once again. The tears were lurking behind his eyes, contending with his frustrations, but he refused to let them fall.

The bell finally rang a few minutes later - Jerry hadn't managed to get any work done; Micah and his boys had taken the liberty of pelting him with something harder, chunks of rubber, and he had snapped his pencil in frustration as no-one was listening to him yet again - and Jerry was already out of his seat and making his way to his locker before it was done ringing. There was no way he was going to stay and get lectured by Mr. Carter for something that he didn't start or even get to fairly explain his reasons for.

Kim, Milton and Eddie were already waiting for him by his locker when he got there.

"Jerry, you've got something in your hair." Kim reached up and rubbed a few bits of rubber out of his hair. He smiled gratefully, but didn't say anything. What could they do that he hadn't tried anyway?

"Are we gonna go?" Eddie asked impatiently, crossing his arms. "I'm hungry," he whined.

"You're always hungry," Milton retorted with a grin.

"Let's just go," Jerry said. "The longer we keep Eddie from his lunch the more liable we are if he explodes," he snickered. Kim and Milton laughed at him while Eddie frowned.

The four of them were walking to the cafeteria when they found the hallway blocked by a bunch - bunch was probably the wrong word; it was more like the entire first half of Jerry's year - of students all whispering to one another.

"What's going on?" Milton asked, standing on his tip-toes to see over the fastly thickening crowd.

"I don't know," Kim said in surprise. "Let's go find out." She pushed her way expertly through the lines of football players beefily scratching their heads, popular, snooty girls that were scowling at her from behind for ruining their make-up and the people who were at the front of the crowd, completely frozen and transfixed at what they saw and Jerry, Milton and Eddie followed wisely.

"Wha-" Eddie's voice waivered half-way through and his jaw practically dropped open while Milton went white, Kim fought to hold a scream of horror back and Jerry "Is that-?!" He couldn't finish his sentence for the second time as he ran off towards the boys' bathroom.

Jerry finally saw what everyone was clamouring about.

Bodies were lumped in a pile in the middle of the hallway; they had been stabbed, ripped and slashed at, their blood painting the floor and their faces. A few were missing limbs and Jerry swore the one at the very bottom of the pile up always wore a black hat and one of the other's always wore Doc Marten's.

His stomach sank and a strange feeling of elation came over him as he recognised the boys' bloody faces. It was the gang of boys that had attacked him last night; their clothes were torn and bruises identical to Jerry's own were scattered across their bodies, as if their gruesome deaths weren't painful enough.

He felt no pity for them; they had had it coming with the way he had constantly treated him and several others like animals, beating them around and thinking they were the supreme leaders over all the 'inferior' students. Now their reign of terror was over and Jerry was safe from them, although it wasn't over. He still had other students to contend with.

Shrill, high-pitched screams directed his eyes over to a block of lockers across from where the boys' bodies were laying and Jerry felt them widen in complete shock at what he saw.

A message was daubed messily over the lockers, written in what appeared to be blood. Jerry, with squinting eyes, could just about make out the message and it sent a shiver down his spine.

_'Watch your backs.'_

* * *

**And that's that chapter. :) The message isn't supposed to be targeted at Jerry, rather everyone who picks on him, just thought I'd clear that up.**

**For anyone wondering, where I come from (and probably elsewhere too) a gimp is a male prostitute. (It's also a free photo-editing software...) And ****pobrecito****, means "poor baby" in Spanish. :)**

**As for the complete parody of Kickin' it (Smashin' it and Smashin' it in Korea (Smashin' it is Taekwondo based and Taekwondo originated from South Korea)), I couldn't resist it. ;)**

**Remember to review, follow and favourite if you liked it. ;)**


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